Kingdom of Gaelica (closed for QuirkyQuill)

[Mr_Positive]

The sun rose over the Kingdom of Gaelica, casting a warm golden hue across the landscape that had endured centuries of oppression. After nearly 800 years under the weight of Nordic rule, the banners of Gaelica now flew high and proud, a symbol of newfound independence and hope. Villagers and nobles alike emerged from their homes, adorned in vibrant hues, as the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread. Children raced through the streets, their laughter mingling with the distant sound of drums and flutes, while the elders recounted tales of heroism from the war that had finally secured their freedom.

Yet, beneath the revelry lay a palpable tension, for the future of the kingdom rested on the shoulders of one man: Prince Aidan. He stood at the edge of the celebration, his silhouette framed by the rising sun, an imposing figure against the backdrop of the vibrant festivities. Aidan, the eldest son of the newly crowned King Eamon, bore the scars of battle—a testament to the sacrifices made in the fight for freedom. The jagged line across his cheek whispered of encounters both fierce and transformative, each marking a chapter in a story that had reshaped Gaelica's fate. His rugged exterior and brooding demeanor often led others to see him as a mere warrior, a general hardened by conflict, but within the depths of his heart, a romantic spirit longed for something more than just the glory of victory.

He yearned for a partner, a confidante, someone who could help him navigate the complexities of leadership in this fragile new era. Aidan remembered the faces of the people he fought for—their hopes, their dreams, their suffering. He imagined a union that would not only strengthen his claim to the throne but also bridge the divides that had long plagued the kingdom. The thought of choosing a bride felt like standing on a precipice, ready to leap into the unknown.

As the festivities unfolded, Aidan gazed out over the kingdom he fought to protect, the rolling hills and sprawling forests a tapestry of green and gold. The echoes of laughter and music danced through the air, yet for Aidan, the melodies were tinged with uncertainty. How could he find a partner who shared his vision for a peaceful Gaelica, a partner who could embrace the rich tapestry of their shared heritage? The crown weighed heavily on his brow, not just as a symbol of authority but as a reminder of the legacy he was meant to uphold.

As he pondered the path ahead, the prince felt a flicker of hope—perhaps in this new beginning, he could uncover a love that transcended the scars of the past. A union that could inspire unity rather than division, one that would echo the songs of joy ringing throughout the kingdom. Could he find someone who saw the beauty in their differences? Could he find a woman who dared to dream alongside him, crafting a future woven from both Gaelica's rich history and the promise of what lay ahead?

With a deep breath, Aidan turned back to the celebration, determined to embark on a journey that would not only define his destiny but also the fate of Gaelica itself. The search for a bride would be fraught with challenges—the scrutiny of the court, the expectations of his father, and the whispers of the nobility—but he was ready to fight for a future where peace reigned and love flourished. As he stepped into the throng of jubilant faces, Aidan resolved to not only find a partner but to ignite a movement of hope that would carry Gaelica into a brighter tomorrow. In that moment, amid the laughter and cheers, he felt a spark of purpose—his journey was just beginning, and with it, the dawn of a new era for Gaelica.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Ahhhh, got you!” The rambunctious cry of a blonde little girl rang out as she darted out of the bush in which she had hidden quietly before she threw herself into the legs of a giant.

“Ooh,” The giant grunted dramatically as he slowly toppled over, turning to snatch the child up and swinging her around before they both plopped to the grass. “Alert the King. I have been bested at last.”

Giggling, the little girl pushed herself up, having ended up sprawled across the chest of her conquest. Standing up next to him, she bawled up her fists and put them on her hips, a look of triumph radiating from innocent blue eyes as she puffed out her chest.

“Let it be known that Meya, daughter of Magnus the um…. Best… has defeated the monster that plagued our lands. Peace be with you!”

“Or has she?” Grinning through his beard, Magnus reached up and grabbed his daughter, pulling her back down, tickling her sides. His booming chuckle blended with his daughter’s own shrieks of laughter until the tickling subsided. Still lying on the ground, he pulled Meya close to him, enjoying the last few moments with his one and only child before he left for another battle. Reaching out, he pushed a few loose curls behind her ear that had easily escaped her braid.

“Father, when I grow up, you and I will be the most feared warriors in battle. Won't we?” Meya curled her legs beneath her as she leaned into her father's broad side, certain that there was no place safer in the world than beside him.

“Oh, my beloved one,” he sighed, “My greatest wish for you is that you never have to see war. Peace should be what we all strive for.”

“Uncle Tyrell says we should fight for power.” Her eyebrows furrowed a little as she tried to figure out how peace and power worked together, but she couldn't quite figure out how they fit. Uncle Tyrell was always sending warriors into battle to keep his power, and war was the opposite of peace.

“Yes, well, I love my brother very much, but even siblings have their differences. And since he is the King, we follow his orders.”

“Is that why you're leaving again? Because he ordered you to?”

“Nothing less could keep me away from you and your mother.” Bending down, he kissed her on the top of her head, a look of wistful sadness having replaced the mischief from moments before.

*
Thump. The wheel of the prisoner cart clipped the edge of a worn divot in the road, causing the cart to tilt harshly to one side before righting itself. Meya had drifted off to sleep at some point, but the rocking woke her abruptly as her head hit the side of the bar she had been leaning against. Wincing, she opened her eyes, wishing she could go back to the dream she'd been having. She always dreamed of her father when things were out of balance. Lifting her head, she looked at those around her. They were all technically soldiers, but not all of them had served willingly. It was easy to tell those who were forced into fighting apart from the men who had trained and wanted a life in battle. The men built for this life still wore stubborn expressions despite their defeat, giving nothing away in their hardened eyes.

Ronin was next to her, his back ramrod straight as he assessed their surroundings from what little view he had. Her uncle had only ever trusted him to ride beside her when she went into the field. His loyalty was unwavering and his reverence for following the King's orders meant that neither she nor her uncle had to worry about untoward behavior. Despite having known him for the entirety of her life, she had never quite decided if she actually liked him or not. He wasn't much older than she was, and they’d played together as children and trained together as adolescents. At some point he had grown beyond the mischievous boy who raced her down the big hill near the castle and into the stoic, unreadable warrior prized by the South Seas ruler. He had always been protective of her, and she knew he would defend her to his last breath. Not that she needed defending. She was more than capable of wielding her own sword. Ronan could also be heartless. So much like her uncle. She had seen it time and time again, and this last push for control over Gaelica had opened her up to more of his dark side than she even knew how to process.

“Where are we?” Her voice came out scratchy and raw.

“I think we have made it to the new crown city,” he muttered. The look of disdain was palatable on his face as his eyes squinted against the sun.

She did her best to stretch out her back, but between the cramped bodies and bindings that held them all in place, there was very little relief in the motion. The gash above her left eyebrow twinged, but she bit down the instinct to react to the stinging pain. They all looked a little worse for wear, but they were still alive. Her blonde braid had managed to stay in, if dreadfully loose, leaving wild tendrils falling in her face. Her body felt bruised in parts, but other than a nasty dagger bite on her arm and the gash above her eye, she was whole. Dirty. But whole.

“Take your ring off.” Keeping his voice low, he leaned towards her so he could speak into her ear. “The last thing we need is for them to know who you are.”

Her gaze flickered down to the signet on her thumb. It had belonged to her father, and when he died in one of her uncle's wars, it was the only thing of his that made it back. She’d managed to find a Smith who was able to make it smaller, but fitting her thumb was the best he could do without touching the stone and carvings. Meya rarely took it off. Every time she did, it felt like she was letting go of Magnus. Nodding slowly, she did her best to slide it off, but reaching a pocket was out of the question.

“Here.” Ronan’s movements were just as stiff as hers, hampered even more so by his large stature. Working together awkwardly, they managed to slide the ring into an inside pocket of her cloak. She hated it, but she knew he was right.

The sounds of the outside celebration filtered into the otherwise quiet cart, creating a dichotomy against the sullen silence of those captured. Meya's gaze shifted to the man across from her, his red-rimmed eyes focused on the floor. He’d sobbed and pleaded for freedom when their group had been overtaken on the outskirts of Gaelica. In the last three days, Meya had learned that he was a baker with three daughters only half grown. He’d fallen in love with his wife in their small village as a youth and had married her as soon as they were of age. Ronan’s threats had not been enough to stifle the man’s distress, but he seemed to have run out of energy for the time being. She'd spoken with him at length in an attempt to calm him down. Those were the people her heart ached for. The ones who had not had a choice but to fight. This man no more belonged on a battlefield than she belonged in a kitchen. While her uncle certainly knew how to fight for power and had a keen mind for strategy, the moment the fight for Gaelica began to move in the newfound kingdom’s favor, Meya began to see the desperation and anger in his decisions. He began reacting, and part of that was to send her and Ronin with a small group of soldiers to target the opposition’s leaders. Her uncle believed that if those who led the charge against him were removed, the rest would crumble. The problem was that he didn't send her and Ronin alone. It was harder to become a phantom in a crowd, especially when that crowd was either trained in field combat or had only ever used a knife to cut a string.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, the baker’s gaze lifted to meet hers. She could see the fear and shame darkening his eyes, which caused her chest to tighten. She offered him a small, encouraging smile, trying to reassure him that there was still hope.

The cart eventually came to a halt, and the back opened brusquely. The wondering of what was to come had ended.

*
“Your Highness.” The Captain of the guard approached Prince Aidan, bowing his head before updating him. “I apologize for interrupting you during the festivities, but we have just received prisoner soldiers from the South Seas Empire. They are being taken down to the cells right now. I thought you might like an opportunity to persuade them to provide information that may still yet aid us. While we know we have won, there are still spies and bands of warriors within our borders. They may prove useful. A few of the men look as though it wouldn’t take much for them to speak freely. One of the men appears to be high

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stood at the edge of the festivities, watching the vibrant celebration unfold before him. His heart, however, was not in it. Despite the cheers, the music, and the jubilation that filled the air, a sense of unease gnawed at the back of his mind. The kingdom of Gaelica was free, but the cost of that freedom lingered in the eyes of the people, in the faces of those who had lost loved ones, and in the grim knowledge that the battle was far from over. The banners might be flying high, but there were still shadows lurking beneath the surface—remnants of the South Seas Empire’s hold, spies, and fighters who had yet to surrender.

He pressed his thumb to the scar on his cheek, a habit he’d developed during moments of contemplation. The jagged line was a reminder of the price paid for Gaelica’s freedom, and though it no longer ached, its presence was a constant whisper of the struggles yet to come. Aidan knew well that winning the war was one thing; holding the kingdom together in peace was another matter entirely.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The Captain of the guard bowed his head, his voice low with respect. “Your Highness,” he began, “I apologize for interrupting you during the festivities, but we have just received prisoner soldiers from the South Seas Empire. They are being taken down to the cells as we speak. I thought you might like an opportunity to persuade them to provide information that may yet aid us.”

Aidan’s brow furrowed slightly. “Persuade them?”

The Captain nodded. “While we know we have won, there are still spies and bands of warriors hiding within our borders. They may have information that could help us root them out before they cause more harm. One of the prisoners appears to be of high rank, possibly important enough to know their remaining strategies.”

Aidan glanced back at the crowd, at the smiling faces and laughter. The freedom they now celebrated had been hard-won, and he wouldn’t let it slip away because of lingering threats. His father, King Eamon, might relish the victory, but Aidan knew the real work was just beginning. The war hadn’t ended the moment the banners were raised. It continued in the shadows, in the minds of those still loyal to the South Seas ruler, in the very cells now holding their prisoners.

“Very well,” Aidan said, his voice firm. “Take me to them.”

The Captain turned on his heel, leading the way through the cobbled streets, away from the revelry and toward the darker corners of the city. As they walked, Aidan’s thoughts drifted back to the South Seas Empire. He had fought them on the battlefield, had seen firsthand the devastation they wrought. Ruthless, relentless, and cunning—everything about them was designed to crush their enemies without mercy. If one of their officers was among the captured, it could be the key to uncovering the remnants of their plans.

The dungeon was a stark contrast to the light of the celebration above. Cold, damp stone walls closed in around him as he descended the narrow steps. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting long, eerie shadows along the hallway. The sound of chains clinking and the low murmur of voices echoed through the space. Aidan’s eyes narrowed as he saw the prisoners lined up in their cells, many of them slumped against the walls, their faces drawn and weary.

The Captain gestured toward the far cell. “That’s the one we believe to be of higher rank,” he said quietly. “The woman.”

Aidan’s gaze flicked toward the figure sitting near the back of the cell. A young woman with wild blonde hair, her clothes torn and dirt-streaked, sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her blue eyes stared out from beneath loose strands of hair, but there was a defiance in them—an unbroken strength that piqued his curiosity. She didn’t cower like some of the others. She sat with an unyielding posture, as though she were simply waiting for the next move.

“Who is she?” Aidan asked.

“We’re not sure, Your Highness,” the Captain replied. “She hasn’t said a word since she was captured, but she doesn’t carry herself like a common soldier. She could be of noble blood. Perhaps even a spy.”

Aidan approached the bars of her cell, studying her with an intensity that betrayed none of his thoughts. He could see the faint bruises on her skin, the dried blood on her brow, and the weariness that clung to her like a shadow. Yet, despite all that, there was something regal about the way she held herself, something more than what met the eye.

He stepped closer, his voice low but commanding. “What is your name?”

The woman’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, Aidan saw the flash of something deeper—a resolve as fierce as any warrior he had ever faced. She did not answer, but the defiance in her gaze spoke volumes.

Aidan straightened, his expression unreadable. He knew this was no ordinary prisoner, and if there was a chance she held the key to stopping the last remnants of the South Seas Empire, he would find out. “Bring her to the interrogation chamber,” he ordered the guards. “I’ll speak with her myself.”

As the guards moved to unlock her cell, Aidan felt the weight of the decision pressing upon him. This woman, whoever she was, might be the key to ensuring Gaelica’s peace. And if she wasn’t, then he would need to be prepared for whatever lay ahead.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The walk to the cells was a different kind of quiet than the cart. The heaviness of their situation seemed to settle over the soldiers. Ronin looked stony as ever as he towered behind Meya, his dark eyes looking for an opportunity he could take advantage of. Meya's keen gaze took in the guards posted on either side of them, the baker blocking her view of what and who were ahead of them. There would be no opportunity for escape at the moment.

Taking a deep breath of the clear, outside air, Meya closed her eyes briefly as she took those few seconds to let the outside wash over her before they were ordered forward into the stale building. As they shuffled down the stairs, the doors slammed behind them, casting them into near darkness. The baker whimpered and stumbled backwards, trying fruitlessly to move away from the direction of the dungeons. The sudden body pushing into her caused Meya to stumble slightly, but she quickly righted herself. Ronin’s growl bounced off the walls, and though she couldn't see his face behind her, she had seen the man’s look of murderous disgust to know he bore it now. A quick glance at the guards flanking them showed their hands moving to their swords, their impatience visible in the dim light. She reached a hand out and laid it on the baker’s arm, squeezing it gently in an attempt to steady his nerve more so than his balance. To her relief, he gained control of himself and they made it to the bottom without further incident.

The guards made quick work of dividing them into cells, and once they were unshackled from one another, Meya stretched out her cramped muscles, rubbing her wrists gently to get the blood circulating again. She was in a cell with Ronin, the baker, and one other soldier who's name escaped her. When they were left alone, Ronin turned to her.

“You were supposed to follow my orders.” Keeping his voice low so only she could hear, Ronin's eyes narrowed down at her. His hands were balled into fists by his sides and he looked like he was a heartbeat away from throttling her.

“Your orders would have killed them all.” Whispering, Meya met his harsh stare with an unapologetic look of her own.

“They are replaceable and will die anyway.” He spat at her, his words just loud enough for the other two men in their cell to hear, but not loud enough to carry down the hall. Meya took great pains to keep her expression neutral as she turned from him and found a spot on the cold floor, putting what little distance between them as she could. With her legs pulled up, her hands hung loosely over her knees and she tilted her neck from side to side still trying to unclench her muscles. Meya was, by nature, someone who felt most at home outdoors. She realized at that moment that being trapped in a dank, indoor space was a living nightmare for her, so she closed her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing slow.

They didn't have long to wait before the quiet was broken by the approaching guards, and her eyes opened before they came into view.

Be invisible. She reminded herself as she focused on a smudge of dirt on the ground. Ronin had stopped his irritated pacing when the group approached, positioning himself close to the cell door.

“... Your Highness.” The title twitched in her ears, and she knew Ronin would have heard it too. Still, she remained focused on the ground as she listened to the men move closer to the cell. Her gaze didn't waver until the question for a name rang out and she instinctively looked up, realizing it was directed at her when she saw the men staring at her. Her jaw remained clinched as she said nothing, but she took the moment to lay eyes on the prince. She hadn't known what to expect from the new royal family, but she had anticipated something more polished. Why she would have assumed the new royal family was the quintessential image of the noble families who did nothing but order other people around from a pedestal, she didn't actually know. This man had clearly seen battle, and her eyes lingered on his cheek before settling back on his darkened stare that was aimed at her.

The order rang out for her to be moved, but she remained in her spot for the moment. Ronin flexed his right first, a tell he’d had since youth that he was about to act. The clanging and creaking of the lock clicking and the door swinging was inescapably loud as the guard followed the prince’s order. Meya's decision to react came a few seconds too late. The moment the first guard stepped foot inside the door, Ronin pounced on him like an overeager bear. It was amazing how quickly a man his size could move, but his hand was around the guard’s neck and he had shoved him against the stone wall before Meya could blink.

Before the other guards could react, likely because she had realized quicker than they had what was about to happen, Meya sprang to her feet and had cleared the distance between them just as Ronin was making a grab for the soldier’s weapon.

“Enough.” Though her voice was still hoarse, there was still command in her tone. Though Ronin paused, his grip on the young man's throat didn't loosen. “This is unwise.”

That sounded more diplomatic to her ears than reminding him that they both needed him alive. It went unsaid that he was likely to get himself killed. His glare moved from the guard to her then to the prince before he removed himself. The look he gave her made it very evident that he wanted to turn his wrath on her, but instead he just clenched his jaw and moved away. Her face softened slightly as she looked at the now bedraggled guard, who looked incredibly young to her eyes. She said nothing to him though as she turned and walked through the cell door.

“Wait…please…” The baker's pleading started up again as the cell was closed and locked. “Please …I'm just a baker. I just want to go home.”

The desperation in his voice was like a dagger to her heart, and she looked back briefly, her empathy visible for only a moment before she cast her eyes back to the ground and followed the contingency back through the hall.

Meya looked up when the prince entered the room and the door closed behind him.

“Your Highness.” She bowed her head briefly before lifting her eyes back to his, her face having returned to its neutral expression.

 

[Mr_Positive]

The guards quickly shackled the woman’s hands, leading her out of the cell. Aidan followed closely, noting the subtle way she carried herself. She didn’t look frightened. She was calculating. Even in chains, she seemed to be assessing her surroundings, taking stock of everything. Whoever she was, she wasn’t just a common prisoner.

In the interrogation room, Aidan dismissed the guards, leaving just the two of them. The walls were bare stone, and a single table separated them. A single flickering torch cast deep shadows, making the woman’s expression difficult to read as she stood before him.

“Your name,” Aidan began, his voice steady but firm.

Silence.

He regarded her for a long moment, leaning back against the table, arms folded. There was a regal quality to her, despite the dirt and blood that marred her clothing. She held herself with a grace that suggested nobility or perhaps high military rank. Her silence spoke of defiance, but there was something else beneath it, a deeper purpose she seemed determined to guard.

Aidan’s gaze narrowed. He knew how these interrogations usually went—most prisoners cracked under pressure, especially when faced with a prince in full authority. But this woman was different. She was disciplined, and her silence was not out of fear but calculation. He could feel it.

“I don’t care how loyal you are to the South Seas,” he continued, his tone hardening. “Your kingdom is falling apart. Gaelica is free, and your people are leaderless. You think they’ll come for you? Rescue you?”

Nothing. She stood there, calm, her eyes fixed on him but offering nothing.

Aidan pushed off the table and stepped closer. He needed to change his approach. His instincts told him this woman was valuable—too valuable to simply throw into the dungeon without further inquiry. She was part of something larger, something his father’s kingdom had yet to uncover.

“I don’t need to remind you of your position here,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to a more personal tone. “But I can offer you something no one else can. Cooperation will be rewarded. Silence will lead to more… unpleasant circumstances. It’s your choice.”

The woman’s eyes met his with a steady intensity, but still, she said nothing. Aidan exhaled softly, recognizing this was going to take more than mere threats. He needed her alive, and he needed her to talk. But as they stood in the dim light of the dungeon, Aidan realized this was no ordinary interrogation. This woman was no ordinary prisoner.

This was only the beginning.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya stood, her back ramrod straight as she looked down at the prince. She'd heard horror stories of how women prisoners were treated, but those stories had come from the boastful mouths of those in her uncle's regime. Were all men monsters to women in captivity? No, she couldn't believe that. Her father would never have done the things those men bragged about. She didn't know anything about this man or the type of person he was, but she knew that war hardened people in unimaginable ways. It also gave brutal men an excuse to feed that dark side of their souls.

He grew frustrated with her silence, and when he questioned if she thought anyone would rescue her, Meya’s head tilted to the side as a look of curiosity crossed her features. That thought never would have occurred to her, and she was a little insulted at the notion.

When he came closer to her, she tilted her head back to look him in the eye. Their height difference became more obvious when he towered over her, and she wasn't entirely sure if that was because he was intentionally trying to impose himself over her to spark fear or simply because he was the type of man who just took up space and she was a woman who didn't take up a lot of space.

Ah. There it was. Bribery followed by a threat. She continued to meet his gaze, but considered her words carefully before she did finally speak.

“I am well aware of what men do to women in captivity, Your Highness, so a reminder would be unnecessary.” There was a coldness in her voice that even she barely recognized, but her volume remained low and calm. “The borders may have shifted, but a man’s scruples once in power are no different regardless of the flag under which they operate.” She paused, the accusation that he was likely no different than the king whom they had just broken allegiance with hanging in the air.

“No, to answer your question. There is nobody coming to rescue me.” Her tone had lost its sharp edge from earlier, but her eyes remained steadfast on his. “Either you have overestimated my value to the empire or underestimated my understanding of how war works.”

*
The baker leaned against the bars, a look of wild desperation in his eyes as he stared down what little view of the cell hall as he could. A guard was slowly patrolling and when he walked by, the baker reached out and grabbed the guard's leg.

“Please….please release me. I shouldn't be here.”

The guard kicked the man’s hand off of him, a look of disgust on his face as he knelt down to eye level with the frail man in the ground.

“Unless you have something of value to offer up, keep your filthy hands to yourself.” The guard’s voice was cold and unyielding as he started to stand up.

“Wait!” The baker croaked out, his face crumbling.

“Hold your tongue, baker.” Ronin’s words came out through gritted teeth from the corner of the cell.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan regarded the woman carefully. Her words, cool and measured, struck him harder than he cared to admit. She was not intimidated, not swayed by his attempts at leverage, and her gaze remained unwavering despite the subtle threat hanging in the air. Aidan had dealt with soldiers, nobles, and spies before, but this woman was something different. Her calm in the face of uncertainty made her even more intriguing—and dangerous.

She had deflected his insinuations about a rescue, and her cold retort about men’s scruples in power had stung, though he kept his expression neutral. War did harden people, but he was no monster. He didn’t need to prove anything to her, but he couldn’t let her walk away believing he was no better than the tyrants she had fought against. His family had taken the throne to end the bloodshed, to bring stability to Gaelica, and he would not see it descend into more violence.

He straightened, folding his arms across his chest as he spoke, his tone calmer now. “You misunderstand my intentions. This is not about cruelty, and it’s certainly not about power for power’s sake. My family didn’t lead this rebellion to replace one tyrant with another.”

Aidan paused, gauging her reaction, but her expression remained unreadable. He was used to resistance, but not this kind of silence, one laced with quiet defiance. She was right about one thing, though. There was no rescue coming for her—not from the crumbling remnants of the South Seas Empire. That war was over. It was the future he was concerned about now, and if she had any knowledge that could prevent more bloodshed, he needed it.

“We’re trying to rebuild,” Aidan continued, his voice softening. “I don’t want more fighting, more lives lost. What’s left of your empire is in chaos. There’s no one left to save, and you know it. But here, now, we have an opportunity for peace—for stability. Help me, and I’ll make sure you’re treated fairly. Keep silent, and more lives will be lost. I don’t want that.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, but the woman gave no immediate response. Aidan’s frustration simmered beneath the surface. She was clearly intelligent, calculating, but there was more to this than simple defiance. What was she protecting? Or was she waiting for something? He searched her face for any sign of weakness or hesitation but found none.

Before he could press further, the sound of a commotion outside the room broke the tension. A guard’s voice barked down the hall, followed by a desperate, pleading voice Aidan had heard earlier in the dungeons. The baker.

“Wait!” the voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I shouldn’t be here… Please… I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

Aidan’s brow furrowed, and he turned toward the door as the guard’s bootsteps drew closer. The door creaked open, and the guard from earlier appeared, dragging the trembling baker in tow. The man’s eyes were wide, filled with fear, and he looked as though he might collapse at any moment. The guard shot Aidan a questioning look, awaiting instruction.

Aidan glanced at the woman, who remained composed, watching the scene with quiet intensity. The baker was shaking, his bony hands clutching at the air as if to grasp onto any chance of salvation. Aidan felt a flicker of pity for him—this man had clearly been swept up in events far beyond his control, but desperation made people dangerous.

The baker fell to his knees before Aidan, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Please… I don’t belong here. I didn’t do anything. But I… I know who she is.”

Aidan’s eyes sharpened, and he stepped toward the baker, his attention fully on the man now. “What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

The baker swallowed hard, his body trembling as he pointed a shaking finger toward the woman. His voice quivered as he spoke, but the words came out in a rush. “She’s not just some prisoner… She’s Meya. The niece of the Emperor of the South Seas. She was leading them.”

Aidan’s heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive. The woman—Meya—didn’t react, her calm demeanor unchanged by the revelation. The title, the connection, suddenly shifted the weight of the situation in Aidan’s mind. She was more than just a soldier or a captured officer. She was royal. And if the baker was telling the truth, she had been a key figure in the South Seas Empire’s war effort.

He turned to face Meya fully now, the implications swirling in his mind. If she had commanded forces, if she had led the Empire’s efforts, she could hold vital information that could determine the future stability of Gaelica. But there was more. Her connection to the Emperor made her a symbol—someone who could rally loyalists, or perhaps even negotiate for the future of both their realms.

Aidan’s voice, when it came, was calm but laced with a new intensity. “Is it true? Are you the Emperor’s niece?”

Meya said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes. Aidan’s mind raced with possibilities. If she was who the baker claimed she was, then her capture was far more significant than he had anticipated. But it also meant that the delicate peace he sought might be within reach—if he could convince her to cooperate.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“...it’s certainly not about power for power’s sake.”

Meya's left eyebrow rose as he spoke those words, a look of doubt crossing her face. It was always about power. If it wasn't now, she had no doubt it would eventually become that. She searched his green eyes, looking for some sign of deception in them, but if he was trying to lead her into some false sense of safety, she found nothing that led her to believe he wasn't speaking from an honest place.

She considered his words as he continued to speak, and she felt her lungs tighten as she was struck with a vivid recollection of her father. He used to speak of rebuilding and protecting lives, but rebuilding never came. And those lives continued to be lost. Her jaw clenched for a moment, almost imperceptibly in the dim light, before she pushed it all down.

Before she could respond, her ears picked up the voices, and she closed her eyes briefly when the baker's terrified voice echoed through the halls. Opening them, she turned as the guard hauled in the man she had so painstakingly tried to calm, and knew his desperation had reached its peak. He would betray her, and she knew it before it happened. When he exposed her, Meya could see the shame prickling the man’s eyes when he met hers. The tears he shed were a testament to his own internal conflict, and she met that shame with a look of compassion.

“Is it true? Are you the Emperor’s niece?”

She acknowledged his question by meeting his gaze, but offered no affirmative or denial. The baker broke down into sobs, his shoulders shaking, and he looked back up at her.

“Forgive me, m’lady.” He dropped his head again. Those words did evoke a reaction from her, and while she had held stoic under the prince’s questioning, she didn't have the heart to meet this poor man with the same. She moved slowly towards him, the last fortnight starting to catch up to her. Her limbs felt heavy and her head felt unclear. Other than those few moments she had drifted off in the cart, she’d not slept for days and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything. The guards who brought them in had thrown their scraps of food into the back of the cart, and she and Ronin had merely sat there as the other men elbowed each other in a desperate attempt to get a bite of what was too little to feed even half of them.

Still, she knelt beside him and, ignoring the burning in her muscles, and reached out to lift his chin towards her as best she could with the shackles weighing her motion down.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Her voice was soft when she spoke, and there was genuineness in her blue eyes as she met his own. “You are a father trying to move mountains to return to his family. Every daughter should be so fortunate.”

The guard pulled the baker back up to his feet, and Meya watched as he was pulled back out the door. She lingered on the closed door before turning back to the prince. Meya wanted to return to her feet to remove some of the physical difference between them, but didn't have confidence that she would make it back up, so she remained where she was.

“He speaks the truth about who I am, but he is misled on my position. I am not the one in command.” Her eyes fell to the ground as she considered her next words.

“If you are genuine about rebuilding your lands and finding peace, your efforts would be better placed in negotiating with King Tyrell.” She did look back to him when she spoke again. “The Keep still stands, and while the South Seas is crippled, it is not undone. You do have someone prized by the king whom he would be willing to trade prisoners for, but that person is not me. Ronin is far more valuable to him and could help you retrieve anybody being held by the empire. He will not tell you anything, and to get him to try would be a waste of resources, and neither would I, if I had anything of import to tell.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stood still for a long moment, absorbing the weight of Meya’s words. The revelation that she was the Emperor’s niece, and yet claimed to hold no true command, unsettled him. He had expected defiance, even manipulation, but not this quiet, almost resigned honesty. If her claim was true, that she was not the key figure in the Empire’s crumbling leadership, then his strategy had to shift. Still, her royal bloodline meant something, even if not in the traditional sense of command.

His mind turned over her suggestion—Ronin. A man of more value in the eyes of the South Seas Empire. Perhaps. But Ronin’s anger and violence earlier were still fresh in his mind, and Aidan wasn’t sure how much more blood the man was willing to spill to protect the last remnants of the Empire. Meya, on the other hand, had a different strength, one that didn’t rely on brute force. The fact that she had kept her composure, even now, after days of captivity, spoke volumes about her resilience.

Aidan took a deep breath and stepped closer, his voice steady. “Ronin might be of more value to the South Seas, but I’m not convinced he’ll be of any use to us. His loyalty to your empire, to your family, is unquestionable. His willingness to die before sharing anything of substance is clear.” He paused, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“But you—your value is not in what you know or what titles you hold.” He studied her carefully. “It’s in the possibility of what you represent. You’re right about one thing—negotiating with King Tyrell is the most direct path to formal peace. And my father, the king, will do just that. He’ll oversee the prisoner swaps, the negotiations, all of it. He’s always been the diplomat. It’s not my place to challenge that.”

Aidan’s green eyes softened as he looked at her. “But here, now, we have a chance to do more than just swap prisoners and sign treaties. We have the opportunity, as the next generation, to set an example for what peace could truly look like. Not the uneasy silence that follows war, where both sides quietly lick their wounds and rebuild armies in secret, but real peace.”

He could feel Meya’s eyes on him, studying him with that same cautious intensity she’d had since the beginning of their exchange. He wondered if she could see the sincerity in his face or if she was still waiting for the hidden angle, the trap.

“I’ve seen too much bloodshed,” Aidan continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Too many lives lost for a throne, for territory, for power. The people of Gaelica—they deserve better than that. I didn’t fight to replace one tyrant with another. I fought for peace, for a chance at something better for all of us.”

He shifted, his tone softening even further. “I don’t know what kind of man your uncle was, or what you believed you were fighting for. But I know you’ve seen the same suffering I have. We’ve both lost too much to keep this going.”

Aidan knelt then, bringing himself to eye level with her. He wanted to make sure she understood that he was not here to intimidate or force her hand. He was here to appeal to whatever part of her still believed in a better future, a future where their kingdoms didn’t have to exist in a constant state of warfare.

“I’m not asking for your loyalty, or even your trust,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “But if there’s a chance—any chance—that you could help end this without more bloodshed, without more innocents dying, then I’ll take it. And I believe you will, too.”

He stood again, his gaze unwavering. “We don’t have to follow the same path as those before us. We can make different choices. You and I, we’re not bound by the mistakes of our fathers. We’re not trapped in their wars. We can choose something better.”

The air in the room seemed to still. Aidan wasn’t sure what her response would be, but he felt a shift, subtle but undeniable, in the tension between them. Whether it was enough to move her, to convince her to cooperate, he didn’t know. But he had planted the seed, and now he could only wait to see if it would take root.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

As he spoke about Ronin, Meya tried to rotate her wrists to find some relief from the metal biting into her flesh, but the guard who had put them on there had done his due diligence when he’d slapped them on her. There wasn't the slightest give, which sparked that panic of being trapped inside her. Though her face remained neutral, she felt the cadence of her heart increase rapidly and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She quickly focused her attention elsewhere, inhaling slowly through her nose, as she studied his face, her eyes trailing over his overgrown beard before lifting back to his eyes. She could see the strain of war on his features as much as she could feel it in her soul.

“But you—your value is not in what you know or what titles you hold.”

Wariness flooded her face, not entirely certain where he was going with this. He spoke with such candor that she was inclined to believe that he was speaking his truth. It made her almost ache for the uncomplicated picture he painted of what a world could be like. To show such solidarity with Gaelica would no doubt be seen as a betrayal to her uncle, and she saw no outcome of this ideal utopia where she ultimately didn't die a painful and unpleasant death.

Every muscle in her body tensed when he first kneeled in front her, his close proximity taking her by surprise. It wasn't until he was this close to her that she realized he was younger than she originally thought. The torch that cast shadows across his face before was less intrusive and had made him seem older.

She also realized in that moment how he and his father had managed to rally such a steadfast group of allies while her uncle’s approach of fear had reached its limits. If this man's father spoke with half as much eloquence and conviction as he, their ability to inspire hope had strengthened the resolve of a people who had long since had hope beaten out of them.

“You and I, we’re not bound by the mistakes of our father.”

Had her father been mistaken in his loyalty to his brother? Meya wasn’t naive enough to think her father perfect, but he was perfect to her. He didn’t share all of her uncle’s ideals, but stood by the notion that you were loyal to one’s family. Magnus had done that, and at great cost to all of them. If she could ask him now, would he think he had made a mistake?

“Your words are pretty, Your Highness, but what exactly is your plan?” She sounded tired, not combative. “Do you think parading me around under your banner while I smile will not have me labeled a traitor by my own kingdom and effectively place a target on my head?”

“I respect what you say you stand for, but the complexity of what I think you are proposing far exceeds what I can currently strategize through.” She tilted her head from side to side slowly, trying to stretch out her cramping muscles, wincing slightly.. “If you want to prevent more innocent bloodshed, I would suggest you start with that poor man your guard just dragged from here. I understand that he revealed my identity because he is scared and desperate. Ronin will have no such empathy towards him, and if you leave them in that cell together, he will not survive the night.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan listened closely to Meya's words, noting the fatigue in her voice and the wince that betrayed her discomfort. He had pushed her hard in this interrogation, but he couldn’t help but feel the strain she must be under—the physical toll of captivity, the psychological pressure of betrayal, and the precariousness of her situation. For a moment, her weariness mirrored his own. War had drained both of them, albeit in different ways. And now, this crossroads—this chance at something different—hung between them like a fragile thread.

When she brought up the baker, Aidan felt a pang of guilt. The man had been terrified, desperate to return to his family, and yet, in his fear, he had betrayed the woman who had shown him kindness. Aidan hadn’t fully considered the consequences of leaving him with Ronin. The image of the baker’s frail figure, trembling in fear, flashed in his mind. Meya was right; if he left things as they were, more blood would be on his hands, innocent or not.

He sighed deeply and stepped back from Meya, running a hand through his overgrown beard in thought. Her concern for the baker wasn’t just about saving one man—it was a reflection of her values, a glimpse into her heart. That was something he could work with.

"You’re right," Aidan admitted after a pause, his voice calm but resolute. "The baker doesn’t deserve to die for trying to protect himself and his family. What he did wasn’t treachery—it was desperation. And I won’t let Ronin take vengeance on him."

He crossed his arms, his gaze turning sharp again as he looked at Meya. "I’ll speak to my father. I’ll make sure the baker is released. You have my word on that." He hoped the promise would show her that he wasn’t interested in needless cruelty or unnecessary punishment, that his desire for peace was genuine.

“But in return,” Aidan said, leaning slightly closer, “I need something from you.”

His tone was softer now, less an order and more an appeal. “I’m not asking you to betray your uncle or to wear Gaelica’s banner. I’m asking for your help—help in forging a path that doesn’t end in more death. If you work with me on this peace idea, if you give me your insight into how we can make it last, then together we can do something our fathers never could. We can stop this endless cycle of violence. No more invasions. No more border disputes. No more families torn apart.”

Aidan’s mind raced as he considered the complexity of the situation. Meya had a point: her cooperation with him could be seen as treachery by her people, and if word got back to the Empire that she was aiding the Gaelicans, it could mark her for death. But if they were smart—if they played this right—they could keep her role quiet, at least for now. There had to be a way to involve her without parading her around as some sort of trophy.

He straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke. “You won’t be paraded, I promise you that. I don’t need to make a spectacle of you for this to work. What I need is your mind—your understanding of your people, your uncle’s regime, and how we can negotiate something real, something lasting.”

Aidan’s voice lowered, becoming more personal, almost pleading. “I know you’re tired. I know you’ve seen enough of this war to doubt that any peace can last. But I also know you understand the cost of continuing down this road. More blood, more suffering, more lives ruined. You said yourself that you’re not the one in command, that Ronin is of more value to your uncle. That may be true for the Empire, but here, now, your value is in the influence you could have to stop this madness.”

He paced a few steps, his frustration tempered by the weight of responsibility he carried. “My father will oversee the official negotiations, but you and I—we can build something better behind the scenes. I’ll protect you from the wrath of Gaelica, and if you agree to help me, I’ll do what I can to shield you from the Empire as well. I will ensure you are given comfortable lodgings, with food and water as you need it. You will be under guard, both to protect you and to ensure you don't attempt an escape.”

Aidan stopped, meeting her gaze with intensity. “We don’t have to be enemies. We can be the ones to break the cycle, Meya. The question is—are you willing to try?”

He let the question hang in the air, hoping his words had reached her, hoping that the promise of something better was enough to spark a glimmer of hope in her. If she could see that he wasn’t like the other men who had waged war for power alone, perhaps she would join him, not as an ally of Gaelica, but as a partner in peace.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Ronin had always chastised Meya for her compassion, pointing it out as a weakness that their enemies would exploit and take advantage of. He had been correct. It was her compassion that had ultimately gotten the two of them captured, along with their small cohort of soldiers. The two of them could have escaped easily when they were overpowered, but she couldn't leave those other men to fend for themselves when some of them were woefully under prepared for the ravages of war. Ronin couldn't leave her because they were under strict orders to stay together, and Ronin followed orders from the king without fail. Those orders didn't extend to the other men sitting in the cells, and because of that, she knew he blamed her for their current situation. If the prince had decided to take a more vicious approach at interrogating her, Ronin probably would have willingly offered to do the dirty work for him.

So when she brought up the baker to the prince, she expected to receive a similar response, if perhaps something less aggressive than what Ronin would have given her. After all, the prince had no reason to show leniency to a man who had been sent here to aid in his and his father's downfall. Instead, he surprised her.

“You’re right.”

Her gaze had returned to the floor during the quiet moments between her words and his response, but they now lifted to him, surprise written on her face. That wasn't what she had expected, and while she didn't trust the prince blindly, she felt that inkling of hope for the baker starting to take shape inside her. She knew his situation felt personal to her, which in and of itself was contrary to every training she'd had growing up. Nothing was personal. It was one of her uncle’s constant reminders. He had become militant about it after her father's death because his death had been personal to the king. In truth, her empathy reached for the three little girls, waiting anxiously at home counting the number of days their father had been gone, trying to focus on the hope of his return, and not the inevitability that he might never. Not all fathers came home from the front lines of battle.

She couldn't trust him. But he also couldn't trust her, and yet he was offering her a way forward. Or doing a really good job of deceiving her.

“I cannot promise that you will get what you hope for from me, but I am willing to see if we can find a way forward. I still think you overestimate my worth. You shouldn't trust me, but I have no intention of leaving while those men remain behind bars. That's what got us here in the first place. I won't abandon them now anymore than I did when your soldiers overwhelmed us.” Swallowing thickly, her throat felt cracked and dry, her voice still breaking from the exertion of the last weeks.

“What is your name?” She asked the question quietly, unsure if he would be more forthcoming than she had.

And where do we go from here? This last question remained unsaid, but she asked it through the inquiring look
on her face.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan regarded Meya in silence for a moment after she finished speaking. There was a certain clarity in her words now, a shift from defiance to something resembling cooperation, however tentative. He recognized her skepticism, her reluctance to trust, but he also saw something more—something he could work with. Compassion might have been what got her captured, but it was also what made her valuable in a way Ronin could never be.

He weighed his next words carefully. The stakes were high, and while they were negotiating in the dim light of a prison cell, Aidan knew this conversation had the potential to change the course of the war. Or, at the very least, to change its future path. He had to be honest, but strategic.

“You say I shouldn’t trust you, and perhaps you’re right,” Aidan began, his voice even and calm. “But we’re both in a position where trust, even if tentative, might be our only way forward. I’m not interested in forcing you into a position where you feel you must choose between loyalty to your people and helping me. I understand that line is delicate.”

He paused, watching her as her eyes reflected the flickering torchlight. There was still wariness there, but he believed she was listening.

“My father will negotiate the return of the prisoners, all of them,” he continued, his tone firm and decisive. “Ronin, the soldiers, the baker—they’ll all be released. I’ll make that clear in my discussions with him. They don’t need to remain locked up. But you—”

He hesitated for just a moment before speaking again, ensuring the weight of his words was clear.

“You are more valuable to me here, not as a prisoner, but as someone I can work with. Someone who understands both sides. I don’t intend to use you as a tool for propaganda or to parade you as a captive. That’s not my interest.” His green eyes locked with hers, trying to gauge her reaction. “You have insight that I need. You know your uncle, his ambitions, and his weaknesses. You understand the complexity of your people’s loyalties in a way no other prisoner does. If we work together—if you and I can forge some kind of alliance—we can find a way to stop this war before more innocent lives are lost.

As for who I am - my name is Prince Aidan, son to King Cathal. I am the future king of Gaelica, and I am determined to ensure the peace my father has brought to the kingdom is only further deepened during my reign.”

Aidan stepped back slightly, giving her more space, sensing the tension in her body from the prolonged confinement. He understood that forcing her to remain shackled like a prisoner would only harden her resolve against him, and he couldn’t afford that now. Not if he truly wanted peace.

“I’m not naive,” he added, a slight edge of weariness creeping into his voice. “I know this will take time. And I’m not asking for your loyalty to Gaelica, nor am I expecting you to betray your uncle. But what I am asking is for you to stay here—freely, not as a prisoner—so we can continue these conversations. If you agree, I’ll see to it that you’re treated as a guest, not a captive. The shackles come off, you’re given food, rest, and a place to think. I’ll ask my father to send the others back to the Empire, but you stay with me.”

He let the offer linger, studying her expression for any sign of acceptance—or rejection. He knew he was asking her to walk a delicate line, one that could put her in danger from both sides if it was mishandled. But there was a spark of pragmatism in her, and Aidan hoped that spark would lead her to realize what he had already concluded: this war couldn’t end through force alone. They needed minds like hers, willing to look beyond bloodlines and banners.

“If you agree,” he said finally, “you won’t have to abandon anyone. The men will be safe, and you’ll have the chance to prevent further bloodshed. I know it’s a difficult choice. I’m asking you to stay in a kingdom that’s not your own, to work with someone who, by all rights, should be your enemy. But perhaps, just perhaps, we can be something else.”

He let out a slow breath, aware that he was asking a great deal of her. “We both have a chance to show our people that peace is possible. If we, the next generation, can take that first step together, maybe it will set an example that others will follow. But it has to start here, with us.”

Prince Aidan stepped back further, giving Meya space to consider. He had made his offer, laid out the terms as clearly as he could. Now, it was up to her. If she refused, the war would continue, and Meya would be just another prisoner. But if she accepted… they might stand a chance at something more than mere survival. They might have a chance at peace.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Meya began to absentmindedly chew on her bottom lip, a habit she had when she was deep in thought. By nature, she was a strategic thinker, trying to anticipate where any one decision could go wrong. She didn't have to think very hard of how all of this could crumble. It was quite evident at every possible outcome.

“They don’t need to remain locked up. But you—”

She tensed up when he paused, mid-sentence, because the only way she could imagine that statement ending was with her behind a cage. He continued to surprise her, though, when his words took an unexpected turn. The idea of working together for the mutual benefit of both their kingdoms did appeal to her, although her uncle would have a vastly different perspective on what that meant. She had a sworn duty to do what was necessary to further the South Seas’ interest, and right now she could uphold that by taking steps to get Ronin back in the hands of the king.

“You are gracious in a way that I have not seen in a long time, Your Highness. The only other man I ever heard express these ideals never had the opportunity to have the impact he wished to. Violence has a way of destroying those who hold humanity in the palm of their hand with reverence in this world of ours, and rewards those who are willing to eschew the part of their soul that values human life.”

Meya's stare drifted away from him as she thought through what he offered. He spoke of her not staying as a prisoner, but truly, she still would be. She had no free will here. Before her was an option to rot in a cell, alongside Ronin and those other men, or to agree to stay under a prettier version of captivity.

“I will stay.” She said it resolutely, thought still quietly. Meeting his gaze again, her face held no animosity as she continued to speak. “If it helps you sleep better at night to not think of me as a prisoner, so be it. Putting a dress on a pig doesn't make it any less of a pig. I am still a prisoner here, even if not treated as one would traditionally, but you have my word that I will help you as I can. I will not commit treason, which you have said you will not ask of me, because a day may come where I have to answer for my choices under the law of a land that is not so patient in understanding a circumstance before imposing judgment. I cannot, as a daughter of the South Seas, celebrate the outcome of this war, but I respect what your kingdom fought for and earned. And I respect what you hope to build.”

It was what her father would have wanted to build if he had ever taken the throne. What he had tried, in his own way, to get her uncle to see.

“I realize that I am in no position to make demands, but for this to have any hope of succeeding, it has to sound like I negotiated his release by offering myself as a trade, otherwise they will question what information I gave you for you to think that he is worth more as a bargaining piece than the niece of the king. I know you have different designs for finding me of higher worth, but King Tyrell will not share your viewpoint. The baker and the other soldiers were intentionally misled to think that I was the one issuing orders. It would not strike either of them as suspicious if they believe I carried on that ruse for the sake of negotiating their release, and it would be common practice for the highest ranking member of a mission to be protected at all costs.”

Meya had nothing left to give at this point. She imagined darkness had long come since they arrived in the city, but time had become a foggy entity since they were captured.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan listened intently to Meya’s words, studying her carefully. He could sense the weight of her decision, the internal war between her loyalty to the South Seas and the possibility of forging something new with him. She was calculating, strategic—traits he respected. Yet, beneath that guarded exterior, he saw a glimmer of something else. Hope? Perhaps, though neither of them dared to name it that yet.

Her acceptance, cautious though it was, had a quiet finality to it. She would stay. It wasn’t exactly trust, not yet, but it was a step. A step toward something larger than either of them could fully understand in the moment.

"Very well," Aidan said softly, acknowledging her agreement. He rose to his feet, signaling to the guards to remove her shackles. His gaze never left her face as they did so. She may have been right—this was still a kind of imprisonment, dressed up in civility. But for now, it was the best he could offer her.

As the last of the metal fell away from her wrists, Aidan gestured toward the door. “You’ll come with me to the royal quarters. I’ll speak with my father about the prisoners’ release.”

Meya nodded, her expression unreadable, and followed as he led the way through the dimly lit corridors of the castle. They walked in silence, the tension of their earlier conversation lingering in the air between them. The clinking of guards’ armor echoed softly as they passed, but Aidan kept a measured pace, not rushing her.

The royal quarters were situated in the western wing of the castle, an opulent section reserved for the king’s family and closest advisors. As they reached the large oak doors leading to the king’s private study, Aidan paused, turning to Meya. “Wait here. I’ll speak with my father alone.”

She nodded again, and Aidan pushed the doors open, entering the room where his father, King Cathal, sat at a large desk, a quill in hand. The king looked up as his son entered, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

“Aidan,” the king said, setting the quill down. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. How did it go?”

Aidan moved toward the desk, standing before his father. “I’ve spoken with Meya. She’s agreed to stay, but not as a prisoner. She’ll work with us, as I hoped, but there’s more to discuss.”

King Cathal raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”

Aidan explained everything: Meya’s insistence on the release of the baker and the soldiers, her concerns about appearances, and her request that it be made to seem as though she negotiated the exchange of Ronin and the others in return for herself. The king listened carefully, his fingers steepled under his chin.

When Aidan finished, the king leaned back in his chair, considering his son’s words. “You’ve always had a soft spot for diplomacy,” Cathal said, his tone neutral. “But I didn’t expect this to unfold so quickly. You’re asking me to release our prisoners, including Ronin, in exchange for her staying here?”

Aidan nodded. “Yes. She’s more valuable to us here, Father. Ronin will gain us nothing. He’s loyal to King Tyrell, and no amount of interrogation will change that. Meya, on the other hand… she understands the South Seas. She’s strategic, pragmatic. If we can build something with her, we might have a chance at stopping this war before it spirals further out of control.”

The king remained silent for a moment, his eyes searching his son’s face. “And you trust her?”

Aidan hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “Not yet. But I don’t think she’ll betray us. She’s not interested in more bloodshed, and I believe she sees that working with us could be the only way to prevent it.”

King Cathal sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Very well. I’ll approve the release of the prisoners, but I want your assurance that you’ll keep a close eye on her. She may not be in chains, but she’s still the niece of our enemy. We can’t afford any missteps.”

Aidan nodded, relieved that his father was willing to agree. “I’ll keep her close. She won’t be a threat, I promise you.”

The king stood, moving toward the large window that overlooked the city below. “This war has taken too much from both sides,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If we can prevent more loss, I’ll consider that a victory. But remember, Aidan—peace is fragile. It takes more than ideals to uphold it.”

“I understand,” Aidan replied. “But I believe we can make this work.”

King Cathal turned back to his son, giving a small nod of approval. “Then make it happen.”

With that, Aidan turned and left the room, finding Meya waiting just outside the doors, her expression still unreadable. He met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. “It’s done. The prisoners will be released.”

For the first time since they had met, Aidan saw something shift in Meya’s eyes. Perhaps it was relief, or perhaps it was simply the realization that the path ahead would be as complicated as the one behind. Either way, they had taken the first step. Now, it was up to them to navigate the rest.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

As the guards move towards her, Meya tensed up again, her eyes watching them work. She winced as the final weight lifted from her, and rotated her wrists. Red marks outlined where both sets of shackles had restrained her, those they removed now and those from when they were captured, and she rubbed the indentations gingerly. Her lungs felt like they opened up and she inhaled a slow deep breath as she pushed herself to her feet, and took a moment to steady herself. Meya felt weak, and hoped to every god that might be listening that she didn't look half as vulnerable as she felt.

She clasped her hands in front of her as they walked, quiet as she tried to commit to memory the path they took out of the dungeons, but she was too addled for any of it to make sense. When he left her in the hall, she allowed her shoulders to slump slightly. Though there were still guards posted, she doubted they were scrutinizing her the way Prince Aidan would have.

Though their deep tones were audible through the thick door, she couldn't hear what the two actually said to each other. Her posture straightened when Aidan returned, and she felt something inside her loosen when he confirmed the release of the prisoners. Aidan expressed that she was of more value to Gaelica here, but Meya wasn't entirely certain if he realized that Ronin was a bigger threat with the South Seas. She wasn't confident that she could do enough good to overcome the damage he could do.

“Follow me.” He continued to use that softer tone with her that he’d adopted, and she fell into step behind him as he led her up a flight of stairs. Meya nearly missed the top step as her body was starting to give out on her, but she pulled herself together. She stopped when he stopped at a door and opened it to reveal a large suite. “This will be yours while you are here. My room is next door and guards will be posted outside your door at all times.”

Though his voice didn't sound accusatory, Meya could read between the lines. If you try something, I will know.

“Good night, Your Highness.” Bowing her head as best she could, Meya stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her.

Once alone, she crumbled into a chaise that sat off to the side and buried her face in her hands. Tears stung her eyes as she silently chastised herself.

This is all my fault. Everything inside of her was drained, and when she finally looked up, she caught sight of herself in a mirror on the wall. Grimacing, she stared at the bedraggled creature staring back at her. She looked like a drowned rat that had somehow managed to come back from death days after the fact. The only thing that looked familiar to her were the blue eyes that stared back, but they were filled with an uncertainty that she had never before seen. Blonde hair so dirty it looked brown had fled the braid that still barely held on to life, and the gash above her eyebrow had crusted over. She was fairly certain she had enough dirt on her face that one could plant a tree easily just by placing it on her cheek. Shaking her head, she flopped back against the seat in a very unladylike fashion and closed her eyes. Sleep. Please.

She'd almost fallen asleep when the door to her room opened, and she moved from the chaise quickly, defensively. Her shoulders relaxed slightly when she saw an older woman walk in with a tray of food, followed by a row of lady’s maids all bearing pitchers. While she sat the tray down, the other women disappeared into a doorway she hadn't noticed on the other side of the room.

“Beg your pardon, m’lady.” The woman's voice was thick with sleep, and she quickly bowed her head before looking back up. “We are under orders to draw you a bath and bring up some food. We also have clean clothes on the way, though I can't say they will be a perfect fit.”

If the older woman was disgusted by Meya’s appearance, she hid it well. She was all business as she ushered the young woman into the bath, then ensured she ate before sending her to bed. Meya quickly fell into the hardest sleep of her life, so deep that even her nightmares couldn't follow.

*

Daylight flooded through the windows and the doors that led out to the balcony, and when Meya finally woke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She sat up slowly, her muscles groaning in protest, and reached up to rub her eyes, unsure how long she had slept. If it was still morning, it was late morning judging by the sun.

Sliding out of bed, she looked around at the room, more aware of her surroundings than she had been the night before. The room with the bath was off to the left of the room when looking at the doors to the balcony, and to the right was another door. Tilting her head curiously, she walked over and tried to open it, finding it locked. She tried to remember what Aidan had said last night… his room was next to hers. Did that door lead to his? Or did it lead to a room between the two rooms?

She hadn't been up long when the woman from last night, Hildy, opened the door.

“Oh, good, you're awake.” Meya watched as Hildy moved efficiently around the room, pulling a green dress from the bureau and helping Meya into it. It was a little big, but not by much. When Hildy sat her in front of a mirror to do her hair, she saw herself staring back at her this time. Her face was free from muck and other than the wound that had been cleaned, she looked almost normal. The wound on her arm had also been dressed, but the bruises around her rib area had been easy to see even in the dim light the night before. Hildy worked quietly to reset the single braid in Meya’s hair, which had brightened significantly once washed the previous night.

After taking her leave, Hildy knocked on the prince's door and entered when beckoned to do so. She offered him a deep curtsy before she spoke.

“The Lady is awake, Your Highness.”

Once she was left alone again, Meya walked to the balcony doors and pushed. Stepping outside, she felt a calmness wrap around her that she hadn't felt in so long. Looking to her left and right, she saw balconies on both sides of her own. Walking to the bannister, she set her hands on it, feeling the warmth from the sun. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face skyward, relishing the fresh air and warmth from the sun. Though it wasn't quite freedom, it was much closer than the cell had been. Opening them again, she looked out over Gaelica, her vantage point providing her with possibly the most stunning view she had ever seen.

"Beautiful." The word escaped her lips on a sigh as she took in the kingdom.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Prince Aidan stood in the doorway of Meya’s chambers, observing her quietly from a distance. Her back was to him as she stood on the balcony, bathed in sunlight, her hands resting gently on the bannister. The wind tugged softly at her hair, which was now neatly braided, and the fresh green dress she wore swayed lightly in the breeze. It was the first time he had seen her truly at peace, or at least as close to peace as someone in her situation could manage.

For a moment, he hesitated, feeling the weight of what he was about to ask of her. He had secured her agreement to stay, to work with him in some tentative partnership, but he knew that trust between them was still fragile. She was, after all, still a prisoner of sorts. Aidan’s intentions weren’t merely strategic—he wanted her to see more of Gaelica, to see it as he did, a free kingdom of beauty and possibility, not just a land defined by its wars and victories. If he could appeal to the part of her that valued humanity and compassion, he might sway her to believe that peace, rather than further bloodshed, was worth pursuing.

Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. Meya turned at the sound, her blue eyes meeting his, guarded but calm. Aidan gestured toward the open door. “Walk with me,” he said. She didn’t resist, and soon they were descending the stairs, leaving the royal quarters behind.

They emerged into the sun-drenched courtyard of the castle, where the crisp autumn air greeted them. Beyond the high stone walls of the fortress, the countryside stretched out like a painted tapestry. Rolling hills, golden fields, and thick forests dotted the horizon, and the distant sound of a rushing river could be heard as the wind carried it toward them. Gaelica, in all its splendor, spread before them as they made their way beyond the gates.

Aidan led Meya away from the bustle of the city streets, guiding her toward a quieter path that wound through the countryside. He glanced at her occasionally, noting her silence. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, but that was something he had come to expect from her. Meya was as much an enigma to him as he was to her, both of them navigating unfamiliar territory, both metaphorically and literally.

As they walked, the air between them remained heavy with unspoken thoughts. Aidan could feel the tension, the caution with which Meya held herself, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he pointed to a grove of trees ahead, their leaves a vibrant mix of red, gold, and amber as they prepared for the coming winter. The path led through the woods, where sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor.

Aidan slowed his pace, allowing Meya to take in the surroundings at her own pace. He wanted her to see Gaelica not just as a place of conflict, but as a kingdom with depth, a land of beauty and peace for those who sought it. “This is what we fight for,” he said, his voice low, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant to say it aloud. It was the truth, at least from his perspective.

They continued their walk in silence, crossing a small stone bridge that arched over a bubbling brook. The water was clear and cold, reflecting the sky above. Aidan found himself glancing at Meya again, wondering what she made of all this. He wanted her to see that Gaelica was more than a rival kingdom, more than an enemy to her people. It was a place of potential—a kingdom that could offer more if they moved beyond the enmity between their lands.

He stopped for a moment, turning to her as the path opened up to reveal a wide meadow. The tall grass swayed gently in the breeze, and the landscape seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. In the distance, he could see the grazing herds of livestock from the nearby villages, dots of white and brown against the vibrant green of the pastures.

Aidan motioned to the horizon, the rolling hills that framed the kingdom, and the forests that guarded its edges. "This is Gaelica," he said softly. "A free kingdom, built not just on war, but on hope and peace. I wanted you to see it like this—not from a battlefield or a dungeon—but as it truly is.”

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. He wasn’t certain if he could sway her, not yet, but it was important that she saw this side of Gaelica. He didn’t want her to think of them as conquerors, as simply another kingdom seeking dominance through bloodshed. Aidan wanted her to see that there was more to fight for than territory and power. There was a future to protect, a peace that could be achieved if they were willing to strive for it together.

Turning his gaze to Meya, he met her eyes again, searching for any sign of what she might be thinking. He knew she wouldn’t change her mind so easily, but perhaps this was a start. Perhaps, in this quiet countryside far from the tensions of war, they could begin to understand each other, not as prince and prisoner, but as two people caught in the tide of events far greater than themselves.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

Though she was usually very aware of her surroundings, Meya had not heard him enter the room. She’d been so absorbed by the kingdom that lay before her that she’d let her guard down. When he cleared her throat, she jumped slightly, startled at the sudden intrusion, but she quickly calmed herself when she saw that it was Aidan. He looked more well rested than he had the night before, but she could see the weight of the world in those green eyes of his. She didn’t ask where they were going, but felt an enormous amount of tension leave her body when they passed through the city gates and into the wild, free from the confines of buildings and man-made structures.

A small memory crested the far reaches of her thoughts as they wandered among the trees, and she could hear her father’s voice telling her that nothing brought her to life like being out in nature. He had been right. Meya’s personality had always been tempered inside the walls of The Keep, but when she and her father would ride outside the gates, it was like something inside her ignited.

Though Aidan said nothing, she didn’t find the silence uncomfortable. They both still stood on uncertain ground with one another, and Meya could not begin to know what this way forward looked like. But for all her skills at deception, when Meya gave her word to somebody, she honored it.

As they walked, she studied his face subtly, trying to read him. So much of him was still hidden behind his beard, and she wondered if he had always had it or if it had grown as a product of war. His eyes were what drew her attention the most. The startling green of them piqued her curiosity because most people from her part of the South Seas had blue, but it was the heaviness in them that made her wonder about the man beside her. She could see the kindness in those depths, but also the worry and responsibility he bore. There was no doubt that he had seen and done things in battle that were better left forgotten, but she couldn’t find the malice in him that she was so accustomed to from the men in her kingdom.

They walked for what seemed like hours, and while her muscles occasionally protested, he slowed down to match her pace when she needed it. When they passed the meadows, she inhaled deeply, smelling the few remaining flowers that had not yet died off with the incoming cold air. This reminded her of home. Not the cold, formidable stone that closed in around her, but the fields they had to ride hours to see.

Finally, he did speak, and she watched him intently, her face relaxed and at complete ease.

“It’s beautiful.” Repeating the sentiment from this morning that had slipped from her lips in solitude, Meya’s gaze remained fixated on him. “It is not hard to see the way you look at it with steadfast devotion and protectiveness. I do wonder, Your Highness, if you have taken any moment at all to look at her with happiness. Or have you not yet allowed yourself the luxury of that feeling?”

Turning from him, she reached up and brushed a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid back from face. Meya was the last person to broach the topic of happiness with anybody. After all, she wasn’t entirely sure she remembered how to smile, but for all the emotions she had seen cross Aiden’s face when speaking of his kingdom, joy had not been one of them.

“Where is your favorite place?” She looked back up at him, curiosity on her face.

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan studied Meya in silence for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face as she gazed out over the countryside. The soft sunlight played off her features, illuminating the deep thought behind her eyes. Her question had caught him off guard. Happiness? It was not something he often considered—especially not recently. The weight of the kingdom, the responsibilities, and the scars of war left little room for joy. But her words hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t help but reflect on what she said.

"My father once told me that happiness in a king's life is a fleeting thing," Aidan finally replied, his voice quiet but firm. "He said it comes in moments, brief glimmers in the midst of everything else. I suppose I’ve never had the luxury to truly look for it." His green eyes flickered toward the horizon, the same landscape that had captured Meya’s attention. "I find peace in the land, in knowing it’s safe, in knowing we’ve protected it. But happiness?" He paused, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. "I don’t know if I’ve allowed myself to look at it that way."

He began to walk again, gesturing for her to follow as they left the meadow behind and moved into the woods. The sound of the breeze through the trees surrounded them, rustling leaves, the earthy scent of the forest filling the air. Aidan took a deep breath, feeling the tension ease from his own shoulders as they continued along the winding path. It had been a long time since he had ventured out like this, away from the castle and the demands of rulership. In moments like this, it was easier to remember the boy he once was, the boy who had roamed these woods without the burden of responsibility pressing down on him.

He glanced at Meya again. She seemed to find solace in the natural surroundings, much like he did. Perhaps it was something they shared, even though their worlds had been so different.

"My favorite place is not far from here," he said, his voice carrying through the quiet forest. "It’s a place my father showed me when I was young. I used to come here often when I needed to think or when the weight of the crown became too much."

They walked in silence for a while longer until they reached the top of a small hill. As they crested it, a clearing opened up before them, and Aidan stopped. The view was breathtaking—a small lake lay nestled in the middle of the clearing, its waters reflecting the vibrant colors of the autumn trees surrounding it. The water was clear, almost glass-like, and a small island sat in the middle, overgrown with wildflowers and trees. It was a place untouched by war or politics, a hidden sanctuary within Gaelica’s borders.

Aidan stepped forward and gestured toward the scene. "This is it," he said softly, the pride in his voice unmistakable. "My father called it 'the heart of Gaelica.' It’s where I come when I need to remember what we’re fighting for. It’s where I can let the rest of the world fall away, even if just for a little while."

He glanced over at her again, gauging her reaction. "I wanted you to see this, to see the side of Gaelica that isn’t about war and conquest. This is the part of the kingdom I hope to preserve, the part I hope to share with others."

Aidan’s gaze softened as he looked out over the lake, his thoughts drifting. "There’s beauty here, Meya. Not just in the land, but in what we could build together—between our kingdoms, between our people. It’s more than just borders and crowns. It's about peace and what comes after."

His words were more candid than he had intended, but the solitude of the place had always had that effect on him. Here, he could speak freely, away from the eyes of the court and the expectations of his title. Here, in this quiet corner of the kingdom, he could be more than just a prince, more than a warrior.

He turned back to her, his expression serious now. "I want you to know that I’m not blind to the hardships you’ve endured, or to the risks you’re taking by being here. I’ve made my decisions, for better or worse, because I believe that there’s a future worth fighting for—one where our kingdoms can coexist without bloodshed. That’s what I’m trying to show you." His voice lowered, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I hope, in time, you’ll see it too."

 

[QuirkyQuill]

“Hm.” She responded to his statement about happiness with a single sound. There was no judgment in it, but it didn't come out as an agreement either. After a moment, she spoke again.

“Happiness can be fleeting, and is often controlled by things outside our control. My mother used to remind me that joy is something built from within, something more long-standing. That people are built for joy through our shared connection with other people and the experiences that came from those connections. One can have joy, even if happiness comes and goes. I'm not sure a king is exempt from the very things that make us human, and the ones who push down that part of themselves turn into something entirely different. Perhaps that would have been a better question.”

Meya fell into step beside him as they walked, her eyes lifting to the reds and golds of the canopy above them. Absent-mindedly she reached her hand out and let her fingertips run across the bark of a tree, relishing its rough texture against her skin.

Breathtaking. Meya's face transformed when she took in the lake with the perfectly situated island, and for a moment she actually did smile. As it turned out, those muscles did still exist, and her blue eyes seemed to brighten at the expression. Had she grown up here, this would have been her favorite spot as well.

Her eyes remained trained on the land in front of her, but she heard him, her face sliding back into that neutral expression.

“I’m not blind to the hardships you’ve endured.”

She appreciated the sentiment. She also knew he couldn't even begin to imagine what hardships those in service to King Tyrell underwent, but Meya also supposed she couldn't truly know what he had seen and faced. They both could recognize that war brought out the worst in humanity, though, and on that front, she believed him.

“Thank you for sharing this place with me.” She knew it could be difficult to bring someone to a place that felt sacred to you. Almost like sharing a piece of your soul with them, and that was a level of openness Meya found it difficult to imagine feeling with anyone.

Her uncle had always ruled as a formidable king, but when her father was alive he managed to bring some balance to the king’s decisions. Magnus was the voice of reason. Meya almost said it out loud, and though her face showed that she was having an internal debate with herself, she ultimately held her tongue. She didn't talk about her father.

“I told you before, Your Highness, I respect your position and I understand the need to fight for your people. And your land. I believe you when you speak of building peace. I also recognize that you are only one half of this discussion, and the other half does not seek peace. He seeks to own.”

Stepping cautiously from the path, Meya made her way towards the lake, stopping when she reached the water’s edge. Crouching down, she slid her left hand into the water, moving it from one side to the other as tiny bumps ran up her arm from the sudden cold. The water had already turned frigid with the upcoming change of seasons.

The day was growing late. The two had started out late in the morning and had covered a significant amount of distance, and her stomach betrayed her hunger as it rumbled. She imagined darkness would set in by the time they returned to the palace. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her hand back and stood up to turn around. Her right shoe had sunken just enough in the damp ground that the motion sent her balance off. Though she recovered quickly, she did so quite noticeably.

Looking at him with a completely flat expression, she said, “If you were hoping for a graceful member of the royal family, my cousin would have been a wiser choice.”

 

[Mr_Positive]

Aidan watched as Meya moved toward the lake, her fingers gliding through the water, the calm stillness of the place reflected in her quiet actions. There was something grounding in the sight of her—a woman so used to the fierce weight of duty and survival—finding a brief moment of peace by the water’s edge. Her words about her father had stirred something in him, though she hadn’t said much, he saw it in her eyes. She understood more than most what it meant to carry the legacy of family, to bear the weight of expectations that came with royal blood.

He walked closer, listening as she spoke of her respect for his position but also her clear understanding of the grim reality they both faced. She was right, of course. Peace could not be built by one side alone. The other half, her uncle King Tyrell, did not seek to build; he sought to dominate. Aidan knew this as well as she did, and while he had no illusions about the challenge before him, something in Meya’s words gave him hope. Her acknowledgment of his intentions was a step forward, however small.

When Meya’s balance faltered briefly by the water’s edge, Aidan instinctively moved closer, but she quickly righted herself. Her deadpan comment about grace elicited a faint chuckle from him, a rare sound that even surprised him. It was strange to think how easily he could find humor in the presence of someone who had been, just days ago, an enemy—or at least someone he couldn’t fully trust.

"Grace is overrated," Aidan said, his tone light. "I find that those who can stay on their feet after falling tend to be the strongest. I’d take resilience over grace any day."

He glanced toward the fading light in the sky. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows over the clearing, and soon night would settle in. They had walked for hours, the journey a quiet, reflective one, and Aidan had found solace in the stillness between them. He had not expected to find comfort in the presence of someone like Meya, but perhaps that was the way of things in times of war. Unexpected alliances, new understandings.

"It’s getting late," he remarked, his gaze shifting from the lake back to Meya. "We should head back before the light fades completely."

They began their walk back to the castle, the trail familiar now as they retraced their steps through the forest. The rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds accompanied them, and Aidan found himself once again appreciating the quiet beauty of Gaelica’s wilderness. It was the kind of peace that he often longed for but rarely had the chance to enjoy. Today had been an exception.

As they neared the outskirts of the city, the towering walls of the castle came into view, their dark silhouettes outlined against the dimming sky. Aidan could feel the shift in the air—the transition from the open, wild freedom of the countryside back to the structured, political atmosphere of court life. Soon enough, they would both be surrounded by guards and advisors, and the distance between them, forged by titles and duties, would likely return.

But for now, he wanted to keep the simplicity of their day alive, if only for a little while longer.

"I hope you’ll join me for dinner this evening," he said, his voice gentle as they approached the castle gates. "It won’t be a formal affair. Just the two of us, in my private quarters. I thought it might be a chance for us to talk more... freely." He hesitated briefly before adding, "If you’d rather not, I understand. But I think it would do us both good to share a meal in a quieter setting."

His invitation was genuine, and he hoped she would accept. After the day they’d spent together, Aidan felt that perhaps they had begun to bridge the gap between them, if only slightly. There were still many questions unanswered, many barriers between them, but maybe—just maybe—they could start to lower their defenses, one dinner at a time.

The castle gates swung open, and the familiar sound of guards moving into position greeted them as they stepped inside. Aidan gave Meya a final glance, awaiting her response, though he did not press her. Tonight would be what it would be, whether they sat across from one another in conversation or retreated to the separate silences of their chambers. Either way, Aidan knew that today had been important, a step forward in a path that was still very much uncertain.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

The sound of his chuckle took her by surprise, and from what she could see of his expression underneath the beard, took him just as much by surprise. An amused glint caught her eyes before softening into something like a smile, though her lips didn't repeat the motion from earlier.

The more they walked, the lower the sun fell in the sky, and the colder the air became. She was grateful for the return to the castle because the chill was beginning to seep in below her dress. That fact made it a little easier to ignore the slight tightening in her chest as the gates and brick came into view. Meya felt the freedom of the trees and open fields drift away with every passing step, but was grateful he had taken her out.

"I hope you’ll join me for dinner this evening.”

Meya's eyes shifted to him when he issued his invitation, and she regarded him for a moment. Before she could answer they were flanked by guards, signaling the end of the tranquility that had been their ever present companion during their trek.

When he met her eyes again, she nodded, but said nothing else. The walls had closed in around her again.

*

“How would you like your hair, m’lady?” Hildy stood behind Meya’s chair, meeting her eyes through the mirror.

“Oh. The same .” It was simple, and how she’d worn her hair since she was a child. Originally it had been born from her unwillingness as a child to sit still long enough for her maid to do anything but get it pulled back in a single braid. As she'd grown older, she just hadn't wanted to sit there. There always seemed to be something better to do, so she braided it herself and went along her day.

Hildy pursed her lips and regarded her for a moment, her eyes not unkind, but definitely unyielding.

“No, I don't think we will.” The older woman responded matter-of-factly, and promptly started to brush out Meya’s long hair. For the second time that day, the left side of her mouth quirked slightly into a smile. She offered no argument, mostly because Meya doubted it would make a difference, but she also had a feeling that Hildy was not one to be argued with.

There was something soothing about the woman's fingers moving through her hair. The steady rhythm lulled her almost to sleep, but before long, Hildy announced she was finished.

Opening her eyes, Meya almost had to look at herself twice in the mirror. Hildy left most of the blonde tresses down, but she had swept the top part back into two loose braids that joined together into a loose knot at the back of her hair. The rest of her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in waves.

“No more hiding.” That was all Hildy said before ushering Meya out of the chair and over to help her get dressed. The maid pulled a deep blue gown from the bureau and made quick work of tightening the front of the dress up, the silver lacing working to define her shape.

“Now, you are fit for dinner.” Looking almost triumphant, Hildy motioned to the mirror that stood behind Meya. When the young woman turned, her incredulity showed on her face, quickly punctuated by uncertainty. For months she had traipsed around in pants and battle clothes. She had forgotten that underneath the leather, dirt, and muck there was, in fact, a woman. Even when she did dress for her uncle's court, Meya had always chosen muted colors, her hair in its traditional one braid. Her cousin had been the one to preen and flaunt, while Meya's duty was to blend in and act as a spy. Reaching up, she laid her hand on her chest, rubbing the exposed skin of her collarbone anxiously.

“The Lady shouldn't fidget,” Hildy spoke, as sternly as any chiding mother. Swallowing thickly, Meya lowered her hand and followed Hildy from the room, feeling very exposed. When she was dropped at the prince’s door, she knocked tentatively, entering when she
heard the command to do so.

 

[Mr_Positive]

When Meya stepped into the room, Aidan’s breath caught for a brief moment. He hadn’t anticipated the sight before him—so different from the woman he had walked with earlier. Her hair, no longer confined in a single braid, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, the intricate braids at the crown lending her an elegance that accentuated her features. The deep blue gown she wore, with its silver lacing, brought out the striking color of her eyes, a detail that Aidan had missed before in their shared moments of tension and conversation.

She looked regal, yes, but more than that—beautiful. He had always admired her strength and the sharpness in her gaze, but tonight there was a softness to her that took him by surprise. For a fleeting second, Aidan was acutely aware of his own appearance. He felt rougher, more unpolished than ever with his beard and the scars that crossed his skin, but he pushed that thought aside.

"Please, come in," he said, his voice steady but warmer than usual. He gestured to the table where a simple but well-prepared meal awaited them. It was far from the grandeur of the royal banquets held in the great hall—he had deliberately chosen to keep the setting intimate and understated. Tonight, he didn’t want to sit as a prince before his court. He wanted to sit as Aidan, with someone who intrigued him far more than he had expected.

As she sat across from him, Aidan took a moment to observe her in the candlelight. There was an undeniable air of tension between them, but it wasn’t the hostile sort. It was more the tension of two people still learning each other’s boundaries, unsure of where trust began and ended. Yet tonight, Aidan wanted to break through that uncertainty, even just a little.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he began, his tone sincere. “I know the day’s been long, and I appreciate you taking the time to share this meal with me.”

He paused, watching her for a moment before continuing. “We’ve spent a lot of time discussing war, peace, and duty,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I want to know more about *you*. Not the warrior or the spy, but the person. What makes you *you*, beyond all the titles and roles we’ve been forced to play?”

Aidan leaned back slightly, giving her space to respond however she wished. The food between them, though simple, smelled inviting—a stew of tender meat and root vegetables, warm bread, and a light wine. But it wasn’t the food that interested him most tonight. It was the woman before him, the mystery she carried, and the glimpses of the person beneath the surface that he had seen throughout the day.

“I understand if that’s not an easy question,” Aidan added after a moment, sensing that his curiosity might be pressing too far. “But I suppose I’m trying to find out who you are, outside of everything we’ve been through. What do you enjoy? What brings you joy, if not happiness, as you said earlier?”

His words hung in the air as he reached for the wine, pouring a glass for her and then for himself. He found himself genuinely curious—not as a prince gathering information, but as a man trying to understand someone who had quickly become more than just an ally or adversary.

As the dinner progressed, Aidan’s eyes occasionally flickered over to her, searching for the subtle shifts in her expression. He realized he wasn’t accustomed to this—sharing a quiet meal with someone he wanted to know more deeply. Most of his life had been consumed with political alliances, war councils, and the constant pressure of being his father’s son. But tonight, in the soft glow of candlelight, with the weight of the world momentarily at bay, Aidan allowed himself to indulge in something simpler—conversation.

“I was thinking today, while we walked,” Aidan said, breaking the silence between bites. “About what you said... how happiness is fleeting, but joy is something deeper. I’ve been wondering if I even know what brings me joy anymore.” His voice was thoughtful, as if he were contemplating the question for himself as much as he was asking her. “It’s been so long since I’ve had the luxury of thinking about that. I suppose for most of my life, I’ve been chasing duty, not joy.”

He paused, his green eyes meeting hers, an intensity behind them that hadn’t been there before. “What about you?” he asked. “What, or who, brings you joy?”

The question lingered in the air between them, heavier than the light conversation he had intended. Yet, he couldn’t help but ask. Tonight, Aidan wasn’t looking for strategies or alliances. He was seeking something far more elusive—connection.

 

[QuirkyQuill]

When she entered his quarters, she did so tentatively, her eyes taking in the wood and decor that encapsulated the space. The room was in direct contrast to the cold stone in the parts of the castle she had already seen, and it made her a little more curious about the man who would surround himself with a private space that evoked this amount of warmth. It made her believe the words and sentiments that he professed a little bit more.

She saw something shift in his gaze when he looked at her, but she couldn't decipher the meaning in his stare before his usual expression was back in place. Taking the chair he offered, Meya settled in, fighting the urge to fidget. Somehow, despite the absence of Hildy, something told her the old woman would just know if she made one nervous twitch..

“Thank you for the invitation,” she responded. Despite the discomfort she felt from feeling so laid bare, Meya hid the perceived weakness by relying on that stoic expression she’d perfected long ago. Though she didn't smile, her eyes conveyed a level of amity towards the prince. He’d been given her word to try, and she intended to keep her word.

“What makes you *you*...”

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as he finished his question, as if the notion itself was foreign to her. Was there a ‘you’ outside of duty? Life these past years had been nothing but duty. When one served a highly contentious king, there was never time for leisure. There was the appearance of leisure with dinners and court, but those events were set up for political purposes. He must have seen it in her face because he continued speaking.

What brings you joy, if not happiness, as you said earlier?

Meya reached out and took the goblet of wine after he poured and took a drink, mostly to buy her time before she answered.

“Truthfully, I do not think I have been whole enough as a person to know joy since I was a child. You look to your kingdom and find light and beauty, and something worth fighting for. I look at mine and I see streets built with blood and pillars erected from immense loss. In full disclosure, Your Highness, my question to you earlier came from a hypocritical place because I have no answer for it, either.

There is one place I go to, though, that I think gets me as close to happiness as I can imagine being, but I have not been there in some time. A few hours' ride from The Keep is a wild meadow that, as a child, felt like it stretched on forever. My father and I would sneak away on our horses and go ride there. When I was older and he was gone, I would get away when I could. Once I was out there, I could just ride. I would take my hair down, break protocol as a lady and straddle my horse, and just gallop as fast and far as I could.” Her hands were folded in her lap, and she absentmindedly rubbed the stone on her father’s ring that she’d replaced on her thumb. “It isn’t much, but it’s something, I suppose.” She shrugged slightly, and diverted her focus to the food in front of her. Meya had been careful about how much she’d eaten the night before, having learned the hard way not to overfill one’s stomach after one had been starved for days, and she’d eaten cautiously at breakfast.

The food warmed her from the inside out, and she allowed herself to fill her stomach fully for the first time. When she finished eating, Meya took another drink of wine, realizing she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt satiated.

“Your Highness,” Meya’s eyes flashed with something akin to mischief as she spoke, “I hope you will forgive my candor, but you are quite abominable at this whole captor business. If you offer all your prisoners a comfortable bed and hot food, you are likely to end up with people storming your dungeon doors to willingly cast themselves at your feet, and then you will have an entirely different problem altogether.”

Once their dinner had been consumed, the two moved from the table to two high backed chairs close to the fire. The warm crackling flames danced in the hearth, keeping the colder air that had settled around the castle at a distance. The atmosphere was comfortable, and Meya found herself let down her guard a little more the longer they spoke.

“Duty. Now, that word I know well.” Her blue eyes stared at the hearth, mesmerized by the flames. Finally, she turned back to him. “As we have both established that we lack joy and happiness in our lives, what would you wish to bring you such things, if you could will them into being?”

 

[Mr_Positive]

As Aidan watched Meya settle into the chair by the fire, he couldn't help but reflect on the vulnerability she had just shown. It was not a side of her he had expected to see—especially not after the guarded, calculating woman he had encountered before. Her story of the meadow and the wild rides with her father offered him a glimpse into a different Meya, one who longed for freedom in the same way he did. He felt an unexpected pull toward her, not because of duty or strategy, but because he could see that she, like him, was caught in a life that had offered little room for joy.

Aidan leaned forward slightly in his chair, letting the warmth of the fire ease some of the tension that had built between them during their shared meal. His eyes flickered to the ring she absentmindedly twisted on her thumb—a gesture that told him more than words ever could about the significance of her father in her life. There was a deep sadness there, one he could relate to more than he cared to admit. The weight of duty often smothered moments of light, and it seemed that both of them had been carrying that burden for too long.

When Meya posed her final question, Aidan chuckled softly at the playful glint in her eyes, appreciating the levity in her remark about him being a poor captor. It was the first time she had teased him, and it made the space between them feel less formal, less fraught with the unspoken tension that had existed earlier. But when she turned the conversation back to him, asking what he would wish for if he could bring joy and happiness into his life, Aidan grew thoughtful.

He stared into the flames, his expression softening as he considered her question. “If I could will joy into my life,” he began, his voice quieter now, “I suppose it would start with freedom—freedom from the expectations, from the weight of the crown. There was a time, long before all of this, when I could lose myself in the simple things. Riding my horse through the open fields, much like you described, or spending time by the lake. Those were moments when the world felt... lighter.”

His gaze shifted from the fire to her, his green eyes searching hers as he spoke. “But lately, it feels like those moments have slipped away. Between the duties of the kingdom, the wars, and my father's expectations... there's little room for anything else. I suppose if I could will happiness into being, it would come from finding some semblance of peace. Not just for the kingdom, but for myself.” He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? For a prince, my thoughts should always be with the people, with the kingdom. But sometimes, I wonder if it’s possible to serve others without losing yourself in the process. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to live up to my father’s expectations—trying to prove myself as a leader, as a prince—that I’ve forgotten to ask what I want. What I need.”

Aidan's gaze softened as he leaned back in his chair, the firelight casting a golden hue across his features. “If I could wish for one thing,” he added after a moment of thought, “it would be to find balance. To be able to serve my people without losing sight of who I am in the process. To be able to have moments like this—quiet moments, with someone who doesn’t expect me to be a prince first, but just... Aidan.”

He allowed the silence to stretch between them for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space as he considered his next words. “I think, in a way, we’re not so different, you and I. Both of us have been molded by the circumstances around us, by the expectations placed on our shoulders. But we’re still here, still searching for something more. Maybe joy isn’t something we can force or will into being. Maybe it’s something we find in moments like this—in connection, in understanding, even if only for a little while.”

He glanced over at Meya, noticing the way the firelight danced in her blue eyes. There was still so much he didn’t know about her, but tonight had given him a glimpse of the person beneath the armor. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “I hope we can continue to find these moments of peace together, even in the midst of everything else.”

Aidan smiled softly, raising his glass in a small gesture of camaraderie. “To moments of peace,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.